Fire and Ice
by Winter Lord
Summary: "Eyes on the prize, boy." In Year Four, the Goblet of Fire selects Harry Potter as the Fourth champion. He remembers the golden rule to winning any tournament as his name is called. Somewhere in the timeline, a dimensional butterfly flaps its wings... and the course of history has changed. Canon is no more. HarryXFleur. Complete! plot sequence and scene descriptions only.


**Harry X Fleur**

 **Harry has a different reaction when his name comes out.**

 **Other info :**

 **He has long hair similar to the Winter Soldier. He is pale and approx 5ft9 in height.**

 **He had been abused by the Dursleys but is mostly over it.**

 **Story starts in fourth year. Canon until then.**

 **He is descendent of Stark (GoT) and Boërn (LoTR)**

 **He discovered 'Deep Magic' in first year. (See profile.)**

 **I'm editing this because a lot of people are _following_ this story. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE UPDATED. THIS IS JUST A PLOT. **

**You want to show your appreciation, favorite this story.**

 **On the other hand, I am blown away by the response to this story. It's barely been a day, and so many people have responded! Just dumb struck.**

 **Also can't believe that I forgot that I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **X...**

Scene 1

Harry sat on the oak tree by the side of the lake, lazily strumming his guitar. Today was the one day he allowed himself to grieve, and as the light shimmered off the lake, he wistfully wondered what it would be like if they were alive today.

It wasn't _so_ impossible that he could see them, today of all days. It was All Hallows Eve, Samhain, Halloween, call it what you like. It was the Night of the Dead.

Instinctively, his fingers strummed out a tune, and slowly, softly, he began singing with it.

(Insert Passenger's _Everything_.)

As the the song faded into silence, he gazed out thoughtfully at the mountains, his reverie only broken by the sound of his best friend's voice.

"Three isn't much chance of anything bad happening today, Harry." She said softly, and he turned to stare at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. He sighed tiredly (is that a word?).

"Shit happens to me on Halloween, Mione. My parents died, my ribs broke, you got attacked by a _troll_ , that cat got petrified..." He smiled deprecatingly, and Hermione was struck by how old he looked. "History speaks for itself."

Scene 2

"The time has come" announced Dumbledore grandly, "to choose from amongst our midst, the finest students of the generation. Let the Goblet of Fire _decide_!"

Everyone stared at the Goblet in fascination.

"But first, I think, some suitable music. Harry?" He added, and the boy grinned ferally, showing his canines. He plucked the strings of the guitar slowly, and a haunting melody filed the Hall.

Everyone started at him incredulously.

Suddenly, the headmaster clasped his hands. "Is starting!" He exclaimed gleefully, and Harry had to smile at the child like enthusiasm on his face. The flames flared red, and a single piece of ragged parchment flew out, it's edges smoldering.

Dumbledore caught it with a dexterity Harry would normally have attributed to a Seeker.

"Let us call upon the Hogwarts champion... Cedric Diggory!" He boomed, and the Hall exploded into cheers. He noticed Angelina looking slightly sad, and he offered her a smile.

"Fleur Delacour!" Was the next name to elicit cheers. Harry's eye twitched when he saw some girls break down into hysterical sobs.

"Viktor Krum!" Announced the Headmaster, and Harry raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he had underestimated Krum if he had actually gotten selected.

"Harry Potter."

The music he had been playing ended in an abrupt screech.

For the first time in his memory, the Great Hall was completely silent. Naturally, it was staring at him.

Slowly, he got up and started moving forward. He stopped in front of the headmaster.

"You promised, Dumbledore." He whispered. "Your swore that none of this shit would happen this year."

His blue eyes were tired and his face showed every one of his many, many years.

"Shall we take this discussion inside?" He asked softly. He stared at the elder for a long, hard minute, and then let out a wavering breath, because Albus was many things ; he was a scholar, a researcher, a teacher, a friend and a million other things, but for all his power he was no leader, nor was he a warrior, not in the way Harry was. He was essentially a simple man, and he hated the mistrust that had necessarily arisen during the War, had hated killing above all else, even when faced with the instigator of the Second World War, or during the Blood War.

And Harry could not find it in his heart to blame the man.

"Come on, old man." He muttered as he resumed his journey, and the headmaster's light tread joined the heavy step of his boots.

He and Albus stood in the doorway, framed by the light.

"I am number four." He announced.

(Line break)

They stood in silence, staring at the boy who had most impertinently told them to shut up and get their heads out of their arses.

The boy in question sat pensively, staring at how hands contemplatively.

"This... This is big. Voldemort's making his final move, and this is the first step." He looked up at the old man, trying to impress the urgency upon him. "He going to come back, Dumbledore. I can feel it in my bones. This is the Endgame."

" _He..._ He is dead." Said a shaken Madam Maxime, and jumped when Harry gave a harsh bark of laughter.

" _Voldemort_ is halfway to dead, and in his current state is still more dangerous than this entire room _combined_ , with the exceptions of me, the Headmaster, and possibly Moody." None tried to argue with him.

He sneered at nothing in particular. "With loose enough morals, ways to achieve immortality are not uncommon. I assure you, Voldie will have tried them all."

It was a testament to the effect Harry Potter had on people that noone so much as blinked at how casual nickname for the most feared Dark Lord since Herpo the Foul.

Dumbledore sighed. "I do suppose it was too much to hope for that you would _not_ research it."

"Very naive." Agreed Harry. "I asked Dobby to fetch the books for me. Very helpful, house elves. And by the way, I figured out how house elves teleport part wards."

The old man perked up instantly. "Really? Do tell."

"It seems that to teleport, elves take _negative_ point 5 seconds to reach wherever they are going. Thus, for that instant, they are both at the place they want to be, and not. Do you see?"

Dumbledore nodded. "So the wards do not keep them out at first because _technically,_ they aren't there, and later do not stop them because they were also _already_ there. Ingenious!"

"On that note, Dumbledore, so you have any idea why everyone is staring at us?"

"None whatsoever, Harry."

He resumed studying the parchment with his name on it.

"This has nothing but my name... No school." He ran his fingers over it, as if trying to feel what it was hiding.

Suddenly, his wand was in his hand, and he was casting spell after spell.

" _Reveal your secrets, specialis revelio, finite incatum, mysteriusis revelio, Pura ignis, scourgify, I solemnly swear I am up to no good, Mischief Managed, lumen scientia, lumen virtuoso, verumin._ " **(Just made most of these up. They are supposed to be very high level, little known revealing spells.)**

He blinked at the innocently blank parchment. He closed his eyes in thought, and almost immediately snapped them open.

" _Heimdell."_ He whispered.

Strange words in an old language (Nordic) rolled off his tongue, and as he stabbed his wand down, an explosion blew him backwards into a wall.

Almost immediately, he peeled himself off, coughing. "Did it work?" He asked.

A voice filled the room; smooth, suave, arrogant, _dangerous._

"I must say I am impressed. Potter or Dumbledore, whoever broke this spell, it was quite a great feat. I just felt that on the anniversary of your parents death, you would appreciate a gift, and so I sent you this.

I wonder how you will fare in the Tournament, Harry Potter; Champion of the Light."

No one seemed to have anything to say save Harry's whispered _fuck me._

Scene 3

' _Dragons, above all, love gold. There have been cases of dragons willing to trade their eggs and hatchlings in exchange for large quantities of gold. To try and part a dragon from its gold is a foolish endeavor, add evidenced by the case of Smaug, who laid waste to Laketown in revenge. That is also one of the only cases of a dragon being killed without large numbers of spellcasters, or indeed, any magic whatsoever.'_

Harry grinned. He knew how he was dealing with this.

Scene 4

"Harry."

"Dumbledore."

Hermione looked scandalized at this impertinence.

"You are aware your hostage was Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, but since he and Krum are dating, I didn't think it would be quite fair on him."

The students listening in choked.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "A wise move, Harry. I shall explain the circumstances to the other judges."

"... Viktor and Ron _aren't_ dating." Muttered Hermione softly, as she accepted hot chocolate from Poppy.

"Oh, I'm aware." He said, and she giggled.

"Harry."

"Hermione."

"Where did you get a WWII Era German U-Boat from?"

Scene 5

"The three tasks system is used because of the number of champions. Since we have _four_ champions," She said bitterly. "It is only proper we have four tasks. I have detailed my suggestion. We can now hold a vote on it."

Everyone looked at the parchment in front of them, and Albus paled at seeing Madam Maxime's idea.

"Aye." _Karkaroff._

"Aye." _Maxime._

"Nay." _Dumbledore._

"Aye." _Weasley, in Crouch's place._

"Nay." _Ludo, following Dumbledore._

"This task is hereby confirmed. To minimize the possibility of cheating, there will be no need to inform them of its details.

After all, they cannot prepare for this."

Scene 6

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the third task!" Cried Ludo Bagman. "The details of the task are as follows -: we have an iron cage " He pointed at it."With four dementors in it. The wands of the participants are on a table in front of the cage. All the champions have to do, ladies and gentlemen, is walk forward, pick up their wands, and return without casting spells or using any sort of magical item. The first to return, _wins!_ "

The whistle blew, and immediately Harry walked forward at a brisk pace. He absently noted Fleur just a few steps behind, while the others were being more cautious.

 _Take Harry and run!_

 _Tom Marvalo Riddle. Lord Voldemort._

 _Stand in front of the mirror, boy._

 _Run, Harry! I'll deal with Remus!_

 _AVADA KEDAVRA!_

Just a few more steps.

BOOM.

Someone had thrown a bomb, and the iron cage had burst.

Harry got up dizzily, swaying. He felt the back of his head. It was bleeding.

Four dementors were on the loose.

The wards around the stadium prevented them - and him - from leaving, and anyone else from entering.

His wand - _fuck._ His wand was in pieces, as were all the others.

Krum and Diggory were at the far end of the stadium, pressed against the wards.

Delacour was on the ground next to him, unconscious.

His knees gave out under him, and he nearly hit his head. Again.

The dementors swooped nearer, and despair filled him. One leant over Fleur. The other drifted towards him.

 _Stand aside, stupid child._

 _No, please! Spare Harry, take me instead!_

The dementor came nearer. Ward weavers were frantically trying to break wards they themselves had set.

A few feet away, a dementor was trying to take Delacour's soul, her innate Veela strength fighting it, but it wasn't enough.

 _I'll fight him - step aside - no, please no -_ it was all blurring for Harry. But his parents had died for him, faced _Voldemort_ himself. He would not die like this. He would not let _anyone_ die like this, not even a snobby French girl.

"No." He whispered, and the dementor above him hesitated, just long enough for him to punch it across the face.

Dementors were light. The one he punched was thrown back several feet and retreated slowly, staring at him in a way that reminded him off a wary hound.

The one that was trying to stick out the unconscious girl's soul looked up. Harry did the first thing that came to mind - he threw a stick at it. The result was unexpected.

The sick hit the creature and knocked out back a few steps, but somehow, it _hurt_ the creature. The dementor cowered and _screamed_ , a scream of pain and fury and despair, and Harry felt fear as he had never felt before, but he snap felt hope, because it was _hurt_. He had driven back the dementors, and he had hurt them, and if he had done it once, he could do it again.

Harry struggled to his feet, and absently noted that the two Dementors that had headed for Viktor and Diggory had turned back, had regrouped at the sound of their companion's pain.

Harry Potter stood between four dementors and an innocent girl.

The first ward was broken down.

 _Iron._ Realized Harry. _Cold iron is an infinite magical vacuum. Iron can trap dementors. Even in the cage, they came close to the bars, but never touched them; iron probably burns them. The stick I threw must have been an iron rod._

He looked around himself for more iron, and found a large bar, roughly two feet in length and with a sharp, broken tip. He hefted it in his hands, and the slowly advancing dementors stopped immediately.

Adrenaline flowed through his veins. He was conscious of every movement being made; Fleur slowly coming around, the wards breakers working frantically, the other two champions starting with wide eyes; the dementors that were housing and circling, trying to surround him.

 _Someone had tampered with the wards. The ward breakers should have had it down by now._

 _He only had to survive till the wards were down._

 _How did the bomb come through? Neither spells nor objects can enter._

"You cannot pass." He whispered, and his voice echoed in the quiet.

"I am Hadrian James Potter.

I am the Lord of the Winter, I am the King in the North. I am Potter, and Peverell, and Stark, and Boërling, and I am the last of my people, and You. Cannot. Pass."

One darted forward, trying to catch him off guard, and he lashed out, iron catching it where it's temple should have been. It flew backwards and slowly got up.

 _He had hurt it._

And then they all attacked at once, and he swung his roots in an arc and held them back, but he knew that it was only temporary.

Temporary was all he needed.

The second ward broke.

They came again, and this time there was no dodging, because two of them came for him, one on either side. He ducked under their initial assault and punched one back. As the other one flew at him he straightened up and in one smooth motion, plunged the makeshift sitar into its chest.

It _screamed._ It _screamed,_ and as it died, it's scream turned to a rattle, and then nothing, and it's body dissolved into dark smoke, while its robe fell to the ground. But the smoke, the smoke rushed at him in a final act of terrible vengeance, and it sunk into him, and suddenly he was _weak_ and he fell to his knees and he wanted to sleep but there was no time, no time, because another one hovered over Fleur, and _when did she become Fleur,_ so he scrabbled around on the ground until he found a rod, and he flung it at the dementor.

He watched almost dreamily, as the iron struck out on the neck, and there was a sharp _Crack_ and the creature fell to the ground, it's head askew.

The smoke entered him again, and he was filled with despair, and Hopelessness, and fear, but the adrenaline still pounced in his blood.

The crowd watched in silence as the man who had just _killed_ two Dementors rose to his feet.

The third ward broke.

Harry gave a quick glance to Fleur, and was not reassured by her condition. Her skin was turning blue, and though she was awake, she seemed groggy, not comprehending what was happening around her.

Oh well. The cold, at least, he could deal with.

He _felt_ the cold around him, soothing and comforting, and he wrapped it around himself like a coat, concentrating it, drawing it near. It did not harm him, _could_ not harm him, because of who he was, and because of the blood that flowed in his veins.

He was Stark, he was the Lord of the Winter, and the ice was his to control.

He hurled it like a spear at his foes. They dodged it without effort, but to have their own power used against them was a shock indeed.

Warmth returned to the stadium, but it did no good to Harry. The power he had used was in his blood, but never before had he used it like this, and this strength, this control over the very forces of nature; such control had not been seen in Millennia, and his body was not strong enough to channel it without repercussions.

He was weak now, swaying as he stood, and the arm holding yet another iron rod was shaking. His nose was bleeding and his chest was hurting; involuntarily, he coughed, and blood splattered on the ground before him. But he was standing.

Already patroni were ready, waiting for the moment the wards would come down.

The dementors attacked. They attacked now not put of hunger, but out of rage and vengeance for their fallen. They attacked in fury.

The first one came from above, ignoring the woman and heading straight for Harry. He wheeled around and kicked out where it's kneecap should have been. As it stumbled, he brought the bar straight down upon its head with all his strength. It fell, and then there was one.

The bar had shattered.

Even before the mist sank into his skin, he had turned back around to face the last one. It was upon him, and even add he raised his arm to deflect it's blow, he staggered, and the Foul smoke entered him. Deep gouges came upon his left arm, but that stagger saved his life, barely. He swayed, and sensing his weakness, the last one struck, diving towards him to give him his last Kiss.

But even as it leaned forward, he slammed his hand into its throat, and the iron that had pierced his palm lodged inside it. He curled his fingers around its throat add he fell to his knees, and from what could be seen, killed a dementor with his bare hands.

"Draco dormiens, nunquam titillandis." He said softly. "It is perilous indeed to tickle a sleeping dragon."

And add the last dementors essence rushed into his blood, he fainted, unaware of the now-lucid blue eyes observing him with concern, of the impossible feats he had just performed, of the awe he was being regarded with. All he knew was that he was tired, bone tired in a way that, for all his struggles and his way of life, he had never been before.

The last set of wards broke, and healers rushed to their sides just behind Dumbledore.

(Line break)

He did not know it, but Harry was possibly the only person who could have done this. The Phoenix tears which, having neutralized the venom, were still in his blood gave him strength against these beats surpassed only by the phoenixes and unicorns. His heritage meant that the cold could not affect him, did not bring him down as it did so many others. And his upbringing meant that he was strong, stronger than any child should have been, meant that he could survive that which few others could.

Scene 7

"'e looks... Better."

Poppy nodded. "'is magic flows through his entire body, not just his blood. He heals at a prodigious rate. This is actually slow for him; I think it is the dementors slowing him down."

Fleur nodded. "What 'e did was... Eempressive."

"No kidding."

They were quiet for a while.

"'e saved my life."

"Yeah, he does that. Often. Usually at the cost of great personal harm."

"When 'e wakes up, can you tell 'im that I wish to meet 'im... If 'e wishes?"

"I'll tell him."

Scene 8

Harry Potter did not open his eyes when he awoke. Instead, he just took a deep breath and sighed.

"I'm in the hospital wing, aren't I?"

"Harry."

"Poppy."

"Your temperature is far below normal."

He blinked. "Poppy, I'm always cold."

She sighed in frustration. "Harry, normally your temperature hovers around 34C." She checked her parchment. "Currently, it's at 27."

"Huh."

Harry made to sit up, but the upward motion instead caused him to float. He looked down.

"Poppy?"

"Harry."

"I can float!"

"I noticed."

Harry conjured a mirror and carefully examined himself in it.

"So, my skin is paler, my hair is somehow _even_ darker, I have become slightly lighter, and I can float." He blinked. "Also, I seem to be able to sense emotions."

"Okay. Fleur wants to meet you."

"Any chance is about a life debt she owes me, forcing her to bond with me at the insistence of her magic, eventually leading to consumation and hot Veela sex?"

"No. Life debts don't work like that. Hermione and ginny owe you life debts."

"...they _are_ more loyal to me."

"So _she'll be more loyal to you!"_

"...Veela thing?"

"No."

"Pity."

"Indeed. I would have loved to watch."

"Is there any chance it would increase the _possibility_ of consumation and hot Veela sex?"

"...yes."

"Yes!" He exclaimed, floating up to the ceiling.

 **X...**

 **You can alter the text if you want, but try to keep the essence the same.**

 **I know this seems like a lot, but this is all I want you to write in an entire story. The rest is yours. It's actually a good deal.**

 **To try and understand more about how I want this story written, read at least the first book of Game of Thrones and the description of Deep Magic on my profile.**

 **Hogwarts is supposed to be built on the ruins of Winterfell.**

 **The Boërling thing just means he was a descendent of Boërn the Old. He can shape shift into a bear. You can make it his animagus form or as a separate ability. This comes from the Lord of the Rings.**

 **Just correct any mistakes in your own story. You can leave a review for others to see, but I probably won't read it. No offense.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes. I'm actually typing on my phone.**

 **By the way, the Voldemort in this is _badass. He will not die in the grave yard._ He will die in an epic duel with Harry, but Harry will come back some how**.


End file.
